


Date night (Stiles watches too much CW)

by manboobs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Smut-ish, fade to black before it gets good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 06:10:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manboobs/pseuds/manboobs
Summary: Stiles & Derek encounter complications during date night





	Date night (Stiles watches too much CW)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to margewearpants for beta-ing this tiny little thing!

The hood looms over him, shrouded in darkness. His apartment is in shambles, furniture tipped over, files and knick-knacks strewn everywhere. The tall, menacing figure had grabbed him as soon as he’d opened the door, and thrown him down on the floor in the hallway. 

Stiles tries to crawl back, using his hands and heels to find purchase, get to safety, find a phone call for help, anything- A gloved hand grabs him by the front of his shirt, slams him against the wall of his living room. Ouch. He’s going to have bruises tomorrow. And a concussion, possibly. If he doesn’t die first.

He tries to pierce the darkness around the hood, look for a face, a sign as to who his attacker is, but all he can make out are clear green eyes looking back at him.

“Stiles Stilinski”, a deep voice calls from the darkness, threatening. A thrill of fear runs up Stiles’ spine. “You have wronged this city”.

Stiles throws up his hands in irritation, slumping more comfortably on the wall. 

“Oh my god dude! It’s “ _ failed _ ”! “You have  _ failed _ this city!” How hard can it be? It’s literally your - _ only line _ -!”

Derek rips Stiles’ green hoodie off his head, looking sullen and equally as irritated. “This is stupid.” The hoodie is way too small for him, which, uhm, hugs his shoulders and arms.. really nicely… No. Stiles will not be distracted by how hot Derek is. Not today, no  _ siree _ , this is not his first fucking rodeo. Right now, he’s irritated. Not turned on. Or, like, only mildly.

“Nuh-uh, buck-o. You agreed to this. Tonight is date night, and it’s my turn to choose the activity, and I chose this, and you  _ agreed _ .” He crosses his arms, satisfied that he made his point clear and that there cannot be any argument or objection made to it, ever.

Derek is rolling his eyes so hard, Stiles is kinda worried about eye strain. His shoulders are still up to his ears. He looks  _ profoundly _ awkward. What a dweeb. A really, really hot, married, boringly-in-love dweeb. And Stiles _ locked that down _ . Oh yeah.

“I thought roleplaying meant you’d want to make love shifted, or some light spanking, or something, I don’t know…more, vanilla”, Derek grumbles, avoiding his eyes. 

“Vanilla?” Stiles exclaims, supremely annoyed. He gestures with his hands between his chest and Derek’s, trying to indicate them, as a unit. As a couple. Who has  _ sex _ . “When have I ever been vanilla?  _ Dude _ .” Honestly. Derek should know better than to provoke Stiles with such a disgusting word. “Also, make love?” he finger quotes at Derek. “Gross, dude.”

Strong hands grip Stiles by the shoulders, pull him up until he’s standing and at the perfect angle to push into Derek space and keep yelling at him. But as soon as he’s got his mouth open, Derek attacks him with his whole face, kissing him roughly, pushing him against the wall.

Stiles will not be vanquished. He attacks Derek right back, biting at his lower lip, pushing his tongue inside his husband’s mouth, swallowing the growl Derek emits when he tugs at his hair.  _ Ah _ , take  _ that _ , vanilla.

Derek breaks away to pant in his face. He bites at Stiles’ collarbone, licks a stripe up his neck. His voice is barely human, full of fangs, as he spits at Stiles: “You’re impossible”, trying to work Stiles’ belt open with his claws.

Stiles makes no move to help, and Derek, inevitably, loses patience, slicing the belt in two while ignoring Stiles’ indignant protests, then just keeps on tearing at the denim until Stiles’ new pair of jeans that Scott got him for Christmas oh my god Derek why, are on the floor in lamentable drags.

Derek shoves Stiles more firmly into the wall, baring his teeth, and Stiles instinctively shoves back, smirks in his face. That’s him, Stiles Stilinski, zero survival instincts, no fucks to give. There’s a swoop in his stomach and suddenly he’s upside down, balancing on Derek’s shoulder, who’s speed-walking through their still dark apartment to the bedroom. 

Before he can even form as semi-coherent protest to being manhandled (it’s harder than it looks because he doesn’t really have much to protest against. He loves it. Derek knows that. Stiles doesn’t love that Derek knows that), he’s thrown onto the bed, flat on his back, bouncing helplessly. 

He suppresses a giggle and tries to throw a scowl at Derek, who’s panting, irises shining faintly blue, at the foot of the bed. Derek is taking off Stiles’ green hoodie, but the material is stretched so thin over his shoulders and arms that he has to wriggle it off. Stiles can’t help laughing, making Derek even more pissed off, if that is humanly possible. Well, if there’s one man in the entire world able to annoy Derek Hale exponentially, it’s him. 

Derek snarls, yanking at Stiles calves until both his feet are planted firmly on the floor, the rest of him still stretched on the bed, spread out nicely over the sheets, right there for Derek to take. Any second now.

Stiles fidgets, knees Derek’s thigh where he stands over him. “Come on, big guy. Show me what you got. We’re not getting any younger here, Greywolf.”

Derek slides to his knees, tugging Stiles’ underwear off. He buries his face in Stiles’ crotch, breathing him in like the little werewolf weirdo that he is, Stiles weaving his hand through his hair. Derek pants at the underside of his dick, still untouched and steadily leaking precome on his stomach. “You’re so annoying”, he says, before swallowing Stiles down.

“Shut - ah! Shut up, shut uppp, or I’ll get the blond wig and the computer and make you call me Felicity”, Stiles manages to threaten before he loses all coherence, Derek methodically sucking his brains out through his dick.

Derek growls deep in response, the vibrations running through every nerve ending in Stiles’ body, right as he feels a lubed up finger teasing at his rim. Oh god. He tightens his hands in Derek’s hair, who gets the hint, starts bobbing his head faster.

::

Later as they’re catching their breath, Stiles half crushed by Derek slumped over him, Derek nips at the marks he left all over Stiles’ neck, soothing his skin with a lick. He nuzzles there, lets out a sleepy rumble. Asks: “Still want me to fetch that blond wig?” 

Stiles punches his shoulder so hard it’ll bruise for a solid minute. Stiles might need a cast for his hand, but it’s worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
